


The rescue or how Maria Hill gets them away from Hydra custody

by KByrd



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Captain America: The Winter Soldier Spoilers, F/M, finally! a little action
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-16
Updated: 2014-08-31
Packaged: 2018-02-13 10:38:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2147568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KByrd/pseuds/KByrd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How the team got from under arrest in the van to Fury's side in the secret bunker with details about Maria. Steve's not sure where he stands with her, but he knows what he wants.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"Who is this guy?" Maria asks in an irritated manner.

"He's with us," Steve says quickly.

"He's a good guy," Natasha agrees.

"So he's coming with us?"

"Yes," they chorus.

"How?" Sam asks.

No-one bothers to explain.

Maria pulls out her tool kit and slices through Steve's handcuffs without really looking at him. She hands him the tool so he can release the other two while she lasers a hole in the floor of the truck. It's suddenly very loud and windy in the back.

She hauls out an enormous device with a screen on it, plugs it into the wall of the van between them and the drivers and watches the screen intently.

"Everyone ready?" she checks. "We'll have about thirty seconds. Cap, you go first, then Widow, fly boy and then me."

She twiddles some dials and the van itself groans, shudders and slows down.

Steve maneuvers so that he's lying stomach down on the floor, watching the road slip under them. The van engine cuts out just as they drive over a specifically marked grate. Steve's hand is down the hole before the vehicle has even properly stopped, grabbing at the handles on the grate which is really a kind of trap door. He clicks and twists and the grate opens on a hinge, dropping away to reveal a ladder that leads down into a deep, dark hole.

"Now!" Maria hisses.

Steve swings his feet around. And drops down, followed immediately by Natasha. Sam gulps and follows suit, scrambling to grasp the ladder rungs as he goes. He can hear the driver trying to to get the engine to turn over. It shrieks and splutters, seeming ready to roar into life. 

Maria yanks on the plug, drops the device down the hole, hoping it doesn't hit anyone on the way down and drops down into the hole just as the van engine roars back to life.

She hangs on the ladder for an extra moment, closing up the grate so no-one can see the hole that four people just fell into.

The van drives off with no-one the wiser that they are suddenly missing four passengers.

The four of them climb down the rest of the way, collect the smashed remains of the van stopping device and weave their way through the sewers until they end up at the prearranged safe spot.

Steve and Maria pull a first aid kit from the SHIELD vehicle left there for their use and patch Natasha up as best as they can. Neither has properly looked at the other yet.

They climb into the banged up little car and Maria drives off.

"Buckle up," Steve mutters to Sam. "She drives like a maniac."

Maria shoots him a quick sideways look but otherwise there is silence while they zip through traffic, slip through the gates of what looks like an abandoned manor house, drive down an embankment, and park at the entrance of a concrete tunnel.

Maria turns the vehicle off and turns to her passengers.

"How are you doing?" she asks Natasha directly.

"Peachy," Natasha answers shortly.

Maria glances past Steve and glares at Sam. "Who are you exactly?"

He sticks his hand out for her to shake and says, "Sam Wilson, ma'am."

She ignores his hand.

"Who vouches for him?" she asks instead. "Only four or five people know what I'm about to tell you."

"I do" Steve says sharply.

"Me too," Natasha echoes.

Maria hesitates, looking grim.

"There's a procedure," she starts reluctantly. "For limited use, when someone is at risk and we want to hide them. I'm not sure it was appropriate in Coulson's case and for the record, I was opposed to its use that time, but for Fury ..."

"Wait," Steve interrupts her. "What did you say about Coulson?"

"Who's Coulson?" Sam asks.

"How did you not know about Coulson?" Maria exclaims. "Surely you've got high enough security now?"

"Coulson is alive?" Natasha swears. "I'll kill the fucker!"

Maria looks furious. "Can we get back to the issue of the day?"

"How?" Steve demands. "I saw him. That wound was not survivable."

"Apparently it was," Maria answers shortly.

"And Fury too?" Natasha reminds everyone of the original topic.

"Him too," Maria confirms, "although it was a little more touch and go with him. We almost lost him for good."

Natasha lets loose a string of unrepeatable Russian swear words; Maria sneaks a peek at Steve who is looking off into the distance with a set angry look, his jaw clenched and tight.

"Sorry," she says quietly, aware that her sentiment is entirely inadequate.

"In my day, dead people stayed dead," Steve says in a very tightly controlled voice. "Grief was real. Is it really too much to ask that SHIELD cut out the cheap theatrics?"

"Obviously it's not just SHIELD who's into the bring-back-from-dead business," Natasha says to Steve.

He scowls.

"Wait, what? Who else?" Maria demands.

Steve refuses to answer.

Natasha sighs. "What do you know of the Winter Soldier?"

"He's a ghost," Maria answers promptly. "A figment of someone's imagination."

All three shake their heads. "He came after us today. Just about destroyed us and half the commuters." Sam says slowly. "Definitely real."

"OK, so real ..." Maria allows. "What does he have to do with ...?"

"I knew him," Steve explains. "Know him. My buddy Bucky from when I was a kid."

"But he's dead," Maria points out carefully. "Died during the war, didn't he?"

"Apparently not."

"But he were still alive, how old would he be?" Maria presses. "You're only here, looking like you do, because of the serum, right?"

"He was experimented upon," Steve explains, swallowing as he remembers. "When I went out to rescue him, he was strapped down to a table, stoned out his mind. They were trying to recreate the serum. What worked on me."

"But it didn't work, right? We would have known ...?"

Steve shrugs. "When we got back to base, he was faster, stronger, healed fast, never got sick. Between him and me, we suspected that some things had changed but we never told anyone."

"You never told anyone?"

"What would have been the point?" he snaps irritably. "Last thing we wanted was to have him taken away and examined or experimented on by guys in white coats. And then he fell from a train and I didn't see any reason to ... give anyone reason to keep conducting those tests and experiments."

"I've never read anything in any of the files," Maria says angrily.

"No-one else would have seen a difference but me," Steve points out. "He was already a big strong guy, already in the army."

"But you think the serum might have allowed him to survive the fall?"

"I would have. If I had fallen."

Maria considers this new information thoughtfully.

"He ended up in Russian hands," Natasha says suddenly. "I saw him. I knew him. In the red room."

Everyone turns to her. She looks defiant. "I'm just now putting the pieces together," she says. "I didn't make the connection before, but I recognized him today during the fight."

"Crap," Maria looks furious.

"He was one of our trainers," Natasha continues slowly, carefully. "I was one of his star pupils. We had a ... thing."

She glances shyly at Steve.

He gives a short bark of a laugh. "That's Bucky alright. Always stepping out with the prettiest girl no matter the circumstances."

"I knew him as James," she remembers. "He said it was a secret name. Everyone else just called him the Soldier."

"His name was ... is James Buchanan." Steve explains.

"You're going to have to tell Fury," Maria says grimly.

They follow her into the tunnel, then through a series of increasingly elaborate doors, gradually transitioning from dim, damp walls into a warren of well lit corridors.

Maria stops just before ushering them through the last set of doors. "By the way," she says nonchalantly, "forget whatever you heard about my being in the dog house with Fury over the Chitauri weapons. It was a ruse to push me into the arms of Hydra. I went under cover."

She looks at Sam, skips over Steve and settles her gaze on Natasha who gives her the cool appraising look of one successful female spy to another.

"You got Intel?" Nat asks.

"Plenty."

Natasha looks amused. And pleased.

Fury greets them from his hospital bed. He's as grumpy and gruff as might be expected, but he listens to their tale calmly and asks clear, well thought out questions. By the end of their briefing (or interrogation), they are all more or less agreed upon the identity of the Winter Soldier although less agreed about what to do about him.

Maria explains a potential strategy for dealing with the Helicarriers and then Fury dismisses them so he can get some rest.

A clerk points them in the direction of barracks; Maria walks away in the other direction.

"For the record, I'm glad you're not dead," Natasha says to Fury as she leaves.

Fury just stares after her. It's the most sentimental he's ever heard her.

Steve waits for slightly more than a minute until he can barely hear Maria's footsteps echoing along the hallway before he excuses himself and follows her.

She can hear him behind her. He makes no effort to be sneaky, but she keeps walking, winding along the corridors for several twists and turns before turning to face him.

She stares him down, looking proud and strong and somehow defiant. 

He thinks she has never been more beautiful.

He slows as he approaches until he is right in front of her.

She has not dared to look at him, properly look into his eyes since she rescued him. Now she does and she wishes that she had not.

He is angry - his eyes hard blue pieces of glass, his jaw set, lips pressed tightly together.

She lifts her chin fiercely.

He stands closer to her than is really necessary; she fights the urge to step back, to gain some distance.

"If you're looking for another apology, you're out of luck," she tells him coolly. "I am my job. I live and breath it and I can't separate myself from it. I won't say sorry for keeping things from you."

"I'm not looking for an apology. I understand that you have to keep secrets. Even from me. Even if we ... if our relationship ever ... you know, became serious. I get it."

Her fierce countenance slips a little. "I don't know how to keep a relationship going with so many secrets," she says bitterly.

He gives a little shrug. "You compartmentalize. Work secrets stay secret, but you have to be honest about personal things."

"I'm not sure I could do that."

"When I saw you a few days ago, you said you walked away because you got scared. About us. That's not really true, is it?"

"When Fury asked me to play along with the being disgraced ploy and then being reassigned to the California office, I started to wonder what I could tell you."

He cocks his head, looking intrigued, slightly less irritated.

"I concocted several stories to tell you and then decided I couldn't live with the lies."

"So you just left."

"I couldn't see how it could work."

He takes a deep breath and looks over her head along the long empty corridor.

She doesn't usually feel so overpowered by men. She's tall and athletic and has a presence that makes most people jump to attention. But he's Steve. He's six feet tall and broad shouldered and he's standing in her personal space. He smells faintly of sweat and gunpowder residue and motor oil from the battle.

"The smart thing for me to do right now is walk away," he says bluntly. "You've already shown that you'll quit as soon as the situation gets tough."

She hadn't expected him to say such a thing. It hurts.

"But, I've never been that smart about women," he says softly, almost resigned.

He leans into her and kisses her.

Soft lips on hers. Questing, not quite sure.

She suddenly wants him. She grabs the nape of his neck and pulls him closer. Kisses him harder.

He braces himself against the wall, leans into her.

She clutches at his shirt with her other hand.

He trails kisses along her jaw and down her neck.

"What do you do to me?" she murmurs.

He chuckles, soft breath against her neck. "This is foolish," he agrees, "but I can never be sensible around you."

She lets him kiss her, remembering that magical afternoon they'd spent together oh so many months ago. That memory has half sustained her, half tortured her during her time in exile.

He pulls away, breathing heavily. Says nothing.

"So what are we doing?" she finally asks him. "We don't really trust each other. Not sure we have what it takes to build something long term."

"I can't think long term," he says softly. "I'm only thinking of the here and now."

"And right now, you want ... ?"

He smiles and her heart turns over. It's been a very long time since she's seen him smile.

"Carpe diem," he says.

"What do you mean?"

"In a day or two, I'm going to go up against the Winter Soldier," Steve says slowly. "He may be my best friend, but he's also a formidable foe. I'm not gonna worry about next week or the week after that. I want you to know that I want you now and I don't want to go into battle again with any missed opportunities or regrets."

He kisses her again, his body leaning into her, pressing her against the wall.

"Are you scared?" she asks, surprised.

"Yeah," he whispers into her neck, his lips travelling up to her ear lobes.

She puts her hands on either side of his face and glares at him. "You're Captain America," she says fiercely, "you'll be fine. You're strong, you're tough ..."

"I don't know," he answers.

"If it comes down to you and him ..."

"It will."

"Don't you let him defeat you."

He just looks at her and she feels a surge of worry.

There are footsteps of someone walking quickly along the corridor. They step back, smoothing clothing, trying to act casual.

Steve recognizes Sam even before he comes into view.

"Hey," Steve says easily.

Sam hesitates. "Oh hey. I didn't realize ... sorry ... I only wanted to err say ..." He looks awkwardly from one to the other.

Steve quirks an eyebrow.

"They're serving dinner," Sam says awkwardly, "in the cafeteria. Thought you should know."

"Thanks."

"I'll show you where it is," Maria offers.

They stand for a moment in excruciating awkwardness and then Sam nods his head very seriously and excuses himself. 

"The Winter Soldier," Maria says to Steve, "he might wear your friend's face, but from what I've heard, he's little more than a monster."

"And what did they do to him to make him so?" Steve says looking very fierce. "If there's even a chance ..."

They walk back down the corridor towards the cafeteria with Maria trying tamp down her growing concern.


	2. Are they, or aren't they?

Natasha's still not sure about the maybe-romance between Steve and Maria, when they are all called into a meeting with Fury who wants to discuss how (and when) to attack the helicarriers.

Except neither Hill nor Rogers shows up.

Fury is up, using a cane and looking grim and tired. Somehow he's obtained the travel itinerary of what's her name, his dragon lady nemesis from the council. She's flying in day after tomorrow, which is likely the day that they will make their move.

"Hill has further details," he growls. "Where the fuck is she?"

Sam checks his cellphone. He's texted Steve about five or six times; he's pretty sure other people have been frantically sending him messages. He must be out of range.

Fury is focusing on Natasha who will impersonate the council lady in order to get in. He's talking about multiple entry points and deep level security access. Sam just nods and hopes to hell someone else is taking notes he can crib off like he did when he was in school because it's all a little over his head, especially considering that everyone else in the room is intimately familiar with the building. It's their former office after all.

"I'm gonna need Rogers to be the muscle here," Fury explains. "Where the hell is he? Did you tell him he should be here?" Fury is snarling at his young personal assistant who has his phone in hand and is looking both scared and exhausted.

"Yes sir," he insists. "Both him and lieutenant Hill, sir."

Natasha raises one eyebrow and looks meaningfully at Sam. He gives a helpless shrug.

"You know, sir," she says with a deliberately innocent face. "Maybe we should discuss this a little later. I'm wiped from all the activity today and I think I need to swing by medical to have them look at my shoulder. You don't mind if Sam takes me?"

Fury scowls. "Since when did my team become so bloody unreliable?" he grouses. "Yeah, go. Send Hill to me when you see her. What the hell happened to her?"

Sam and Natasha escape gratefully.

"What do you think?" Sam asks once they're far enough away.

She shakes her head. "So unlike either one of them. So unprofessional. I mean, I can see them taking off, but to totally blow off a meeting?"

Sam grins. "I'm guessing they're either out of range or ..."

"Or too fucking 'busy' to check messages!"

He laughs.

"I wanted to get out of there before anyone else starts making a connection." Natasha says.

"Where do you think they could be?"

"I don't know and I'm not going looking for them. Last thing I need is to open a broom closet and find them ... _in flagrante delicto_ ," Natasha says grimly.

It's been a really long day. A really strange, stressful, tiring day and something about the image she conjures up strikes Sam as funny. He starts laughing and can't stop. Pretty soon, he's breathless and hysterical, leaning up against the wall.

 

They end up in the barracks where Steve and Sam are going to sleep. Natasha collapses on Steve's cot. His stuff is tucked under the bed, but there's no sign of the big guy.

"Think he left his phone behind?" Sam suggests.

"Doubt it," she snorts. "He loves his toys."

Sam calls him anyway just in case. No phone rings in the room.

 

Minutes later, Steve himself comes marching in.

"Sam, you just called me? Oh hey," He looks confused for a moment. "Should I have knocked?"

Natasha groans and rolls her eyes at him, "seriously? You know people are looking for you?"

"Uh huh," he answers, voice dripping with sarcasm. He holds up his phone. "Thirty three texts. Do I really need to scroll through them or can you brief me? Explosion? Murder? Someone else back from the dead?"

Sam snorts. "You missed a meeting."

"Where were you?" Natasha asks.

He ignores her. Sam sketches out the basics of the plan as he understood it and Natasha fills in further details. Steve listens and asks a few questions, but there's likely to be another conversation with Fury tomorrow.

Steve munches on a pair of enormous muffins as they talk.

Eventually they run out of things to say.

Sam is exhausted, the events of the day are catching up to him. Even Steve is looking weary. 

"Maybe we should sleep on it and discuss further in the morning?"

"Sounds good," Sam says sleepily.

"Mmm," says Natasha, still sprawled out in Steve's bed.

Steve smiles benignly at her. "You're in my bed," he says. "That's going to be awfully cozy. It's a pretty small bed."

"I'm sharing a room with Maria," she answers, "unless you want to swap?"

He looks amused.

"Or we could share," she invites him coquettishly, patting the bed beside her, " _again_."

He shakes his head. "You snore and you kick," he reminds her. "And don't you have a perfectly good bed down the hall?" 

"How'd you know where the women's barracks are?" she asks. "And I don't snore."

"You do," he insists. "Remember that time in, where were we? That fleabitten motel in Cleveland?"

"I had a cold."

Sam shakes his head in amusement at their banter.

"First time I've ever been kicked _out_ of a guy's bed," Natasha grumbles, climbing wearily out. "I guess, you must have something better waiting in the wings."

Steve makes a face and shooing motions.

She leaves.

 

Sam sleeps well and late. By the time he wakes, Steve and everyone else who shared the barracks has left. He drags himself out, makes a half hearted attempt at making the bed and wanders down to the cafeteria which smells enticingly of bacon and pancakes.

It's a small group of people who live and work in this bunker and clearly they all know each other. People look at him curiously, not in an unfriendly way, but Sam wishes that he knew someone.

He asks the lady serving the food if Captain America has been by.

"Oh yes," she says, her eyes lighting up. "That boy sure can eat. Took several servings up to the roof."

"Where?"

"The roof," she repeats. "You can access it from those stairs over there."

Sam follows her directions and climbs the stairs up to a heavily barricaded door. The first attempt to open it almost causes him to dump his tray so he puts it down carefully and tries the door again. It's unlocked, but blocked by a large rock seemingly rolled in front of the door. When he shakes the door, a metal ball rolls down the pole of rocks, making a racket. It occurs to him that it might be set up as a kind of alarm.

He hesitates.

"Hello?" A woman's voice, cool and assured.

"Err ... hello," Sam answers reluctantly. "Sorry, don't mean to intrude, but I ..."

Maria Hill yanks on the door and opens it for him.

"It's your friend," she calls back over her shoulder, "the guy with wings." She inclines her head in invitation although her face is almost expressionless. 

Sam picks up his tray of food and steps out onto the roof.

"Hey Sam," Steve greets him with a smile. "Good morning."

"Morning," Sam answers feeling immediately awkward.

Although he doesn't know Maria well, he's quite sure that this is not her usual appearance. She is barefoot (!) and although she's wearing her usual dark suit, the blouse is loose and untucked with the top and bottom buttons undone. And her hair is loose, hanging carelessly down her back.

Steve, too is barefoot, but lounging in a pool deck chair. He doesn't look rumpled or anything, but Sam is an expert in body language and he can see that Steve is both relaxed and yet closed off. Less friendly than usual.

He still has good manners. He greets Sam cordially and invites him to sit and eat breakfast. They've clearly eaten already. Their empty trays are piled on a nearby table. 

The rooftop terrace is nice - sunny and dotted with plastic deck chairs and potted plants. But Sam feels pretty strongly that he's not welcome just now.

Both Steve and Maria are polite and make conversation. Maria asks him about his wings. She sits on a chair and half watches the scenery, half pays attention to the conversation. Sam gets the feeling that she's not really listening.

So Sam makes up an awkward lie about forgetting to get milk for his coffee and flees downstairs.

 

Later when he tells Natasha the story, she laughs and demands details.

"I've known Maria for _years_ ," she says, "and I've _never_ seen her with her hair down."

"It's long," he reports. "Hangs most ways down her back."

Natasha shrugs.

"Some guys find long hair really sexy," he points out. "Just saying."

She wants to know more.

"Was Steve's shirt unbuttoned? Why do you think he didn't get up?"

"I don't know!" Sam exclaims. "I'm not even going to speculate!"

"Hair ruffled? Lips swollen?"

"No, not that I noticed!"

"Were any items of clothing strewn carelessly around?"

"I didn't see anything like that."

"That's why women make better spies," she grumbles.

 

Natasha decides that she needs to do some of her own surveillance. Not many can thwart her when she's on her game.

Problem is, there doesn't really appear to be much going on.

She tracks down Maria, who is her usual uber efficient self (dressed as usual in sober working clothes with her hair up in a tight librarian knot), ruthlessly sorting through their weapons cache and assigning them to the relevant agents.

Natasha perches and asks questions. Like - where we you last night? In a basement bunker with no cell phone reception.

Like - is it true that you ate breakfast with Steve on the rooftop terrace? Yup.

Are you sleeping with him?

I plead the fifth.

You can't. This isn't a court of law.

Maria smirks. "I'm busy," she says. "Scram or I'll forget to give you the best weapons."

"Really? You and Steve?"

"Are you trying to set us up?"

"No, I've heard you're already ... seeing each other."

Maria looks intrigued. "Really? Well that can only do my reputation some good. He's pretty cute."

"Cute? Bah! Tell me he's hot. That he gives great ..."

"Natasha!'

"Sorry."

"Sexual harassment lawsuit just waiting to happen."

"Least of our worries just now, don't you think?"

"It's disrespectful."

"It's not like every other woman at SHIELD hasn't wondered about taking the national icon out for a test drive."

Maria rolls her eyes. "Poor guy. Bombarded by rapacious modern women everywhere he turns."

"I think he likes it," Natasha argues. "I've seen him _look_. He's not half as innocent as some people seem to think."

"People had sex back in his day, too," Maria agrees.

"I keep trying to set him up," Natasha says, watching for signs of jealousy. "Figure it's practically a crime to let such a nice guy stay single."

"If you think he's so attractive, why haven't you ... err taken him for a spin?"

"Too good for me," Natasha says bluntly. "I like 'em a little rougher around the edges."

Maria eventually chases Natasha away.

The next time Natasha sees Steve is in the planning session for tomorrow's mission. She pays attention (her life is too valuable to risk because of a silly covert alternative task), but she's disappointed. 

Steve and Maria talk to each other. They're pleasant, friendly, nice. Sure, Steve smiles at Maria, but doesn't he smile at everyone?

There are no secret looks.

They don't touch each other.

There are no code words as far as she can tell.

And they leave separately.

 

It's Fury who runs into them next. Sort of.

He's supposed to walk a certain distance every day as part of his physio. He hates it. Well, he hates every aspect of being sick and weak. He'll be needed tomorrow so he has to be strong and he's disciplined enough to do his exercises as required, but he's human enough to hate it.

So he walks down in the lower levels of the bunker, as far away as possible from the rest of the crew. All good people of course, but still, he'd rather that the fewest possible people saw him _exercising._

So it is with some irritation that he spies Steve Rogers ahead of him in the dimly lit corridor. He doesn't call out to him, merely watches as Rogers takes a quick peek behind him (and clearly doesn't see Fury) then slips around a corner. 

Fury follows him - carefully. 

There's no sign of Rogers in the corridor. 

Fury walks - slowly - all the way to the end of the corridor, checks out the storage room at the end and then walks back. 

Was it his imagination? 

Well, he knows that Rogers can move pretty fast when he wants to. 

He's stayed alive all these years by trusting his intuition. 

He walks back and finds a door, set discreetly back in the wall. 

He tries the door knob and finds it locked. Well, he has the master key that will unlock every door in the bunker, but first he pulls out his cellphone to report on where he is. You don't get to be an old experienced spy without remembering to let people know where you are. 

How else would you be rescued in case of need? 

Frustratingly, there is no service so deep in the bunker. 

He unlocks the door, but when he tries to open it, he finds that it's blocked by a chair or something. He hears a scuffle, maybe voices in the dark and he puts his shoulder into it and rams the door. It opens a bit. 

"Sir!" a woman exclaims. 

He hesitates. He recognizes her voice. 

Maria is at the door, peeking through the doorway. "What are you doing here?" 

"What's going on?" 

"Nothing." 

He pushes at the door and somewhat to his surprise, she opens it. It's dark inside except for a candle burning on a side table next to a small bed. 

"What the hell!" he exclaims. "what's going on? Why are you down here in the dark?" 

"I have a headache and I need a nap," she answers cooly. "I hardly slept last night and tomorrow's going to be a big day." 

He stares at her. She's barefoot, with her hair in a ponytail and she's keeping her arms crossed in front of her chest. She looks pissed off. 

"Why down here?" 

"It's chaos upstairs," she answers. "Noisy, busy, no privacy. I found this place last week and thought it was perfect for a little private getaway. Do you need me for something?" 

"This is where you were last night when we couldn't find you?" 

"Yes, sorry about that. I didn't actually realize that there was no cellphone service down here." 

"Is Rogers here?" 

"What? No." 

He looks around. It's just a room, just like dozens of other rooms upstairs, with a bed, a side table, a chair and some empty bookshelves. Her jacket is thrown over the chair. 

"I thought I heard voices." 

"It's stone so maybe you heard an echo?" 

"What's behind that door?" he points to another door. 

"It's locked," she answers. 

He takes another step into the room and she actually stops him. "If you don't mind, sir, I'd prefer that you left. I really don't feel very good and I want to go back to sleep. As you can see I'm not doing anything wrong here." 

He can't disagree but he leaves reluctantly with a sense that there's more going on than she is letting on. 

It's only afterwards that he realizes that the jacket on the chair belongs to Rogers, not Hill. 

Natasha goes up to the rooftop terrace for some privacy and calls Clint. 

She knows she's not supposed to. She's certainly not going to tell him anything - not about what's happened, nor what's going to take place tomorrow. 

She just wants to talk. 

The thing is that they've been partners so long, they know each other so well, that she doesn't have to tell him anything explicitly. He knows. 

"How are you getting along with Steve?" he asks. "Still interfering in his love life?" 

"Trying to figure out if he has one," she answers with a smile. "You know him best. You think he's gay?" 

"No," Clint answers firmly. "No and no. He likes the ladies." 

"You sound pretty sure." 

"Been skinny dipping with him and showered in those damn communal showers at base often enough," Clint says. 

"Maybe you're just not his type." 

"Maybe you should think about what his type might be." 

"Like Peggy Carter?" 

"Hmm. I'm sure she was a classy lady, but she had to be a bit of a ballsy dame in her day just to get into the army. I mean, she wasn't a wren or a nurse, she was an intelligence agent during the war." 

"So he likes a bit of a challenge." 

"I'd say so." 

"Uh huh," Natasha agrees. "So who's the modern day equivalent?" 

They stay quiet for a moment. 

She wishes they could Skype. She'd love to be able to see him, but for now, they'll have to make do with stolen moments on a scratchy cellphone. 

"You knew, didn't you?" she says finally. 

"Know what?" 

"You let me set him up with all these sweet, biddable girls, knowing full well that he already had his eye on someone." 

"It was funny," Clint smiles. "I think Steve thought it was funny." 

"How long?" 

"Dunno." 

"Come on." 

He sighs. "If you sneak a peek at the security file from the agents assigned to watch him, you'll see that they report that he picked up a lady on his bike and took her on a 'date' to the farmer's market, way back last year. Right after the Chitauri battle in New York. And then the very next day, his security coverage was cancelled." 

"Cancelled?" 

"Finished, kaput. Video and audio feeds killed. From a full team to no-one. No further reports filed." 

"Maria Hill." 

"Who else has that kind of pull? And the motivation?" 

"That was ages ago." 

"Well, I don't think it's been all smooth sailing. He kind of hinted that they'd had a little break up, break down, I don't know, but he wasn't seeing her anymore and he wasn't happy about it." 

Natasha considers the dates. "Was that about when she was assigned to California?" 

"Think so." 

"She told us that the snit between her and Fury was more for show than anything else. She was under cover." 

"At another SHIELD office?" 

"You have no idea." 

They talk for a little longer before saying goodbye. Just as dancers wish each good luck by saying 'break a leg', agents never anger the gods by saying that they hope things go well. Clint says that she owes him a drink for the Intel and she counters that he owes her a drink (or two) for keeping it from her for so long. 

They hang up. 

Sam is woken at an ungodly hour by his alarm the day of the big save-the-world mission. Steve's bed is still made, clearly unslept in, but there's a note in elegant handwriting that can only be Steve's. Got something to do - don't worry if I'm not back by breakfast. 

Sam is too sleepy to worry. 

He drags himself to the cafeteria to have breakfast and finds Steve in full Captain America regalia eating breakfast, possibly not even his first. 

"I hate people like you," Sam grumbles. 

"Like what?" 

"Morning people." 

"Have some coffee. We're leaving in 40 minutes." 

Sam does. He drinks coffee and suits up and then goes out and climbs into the back of a van where Steve is complaining mildly to Maria that he'd prefer someone else to drive. 

"If today is the day I'm destined to die in a fiery crash, I'd rather it wasn't on the way. In a van." 

"Not heroic enough?" she smiles at him. 

"I still get car sick and the way you drive ..." 

"There's a bucket in the back," she retorts unsympathetically. 

Sam wonders how he ever suspected that there was something romantic between them. 

Natasha jumps up and leans in the passenger window. "Where were you last night?" she asks Maria boldly. "I was a bit lonely." 

"Had to go to the Smithsonian," Maria explains, jabbing her thumb towards the back of the van. "Needed to pick up some fossil duds." 

Natasha grins. "You stole Captain America's uniform?" 

"How can I steal it?" Steve answers. "It's mine. See? Still fits!" 

Sam notes for the first time that the uniform Steve is wearing happens to be the old, original uniform. 

Natasha looks unimpressed. "Who brags about such things? I never wear outfits more than a few years old or they're out of fashion."

"Speaking of which," Maria snorts. "Nice suit you're wearing now." 

"Yeah," Natasha answers sarcastically, "for a sixty year old politician lady. Remember, blue suit - no shooting." She wags her finger at them. 

"Nat!" someone yells and she pulls her head out of their window. "Gotta go. Remember, don't shoot me just cause you don't remember what I look like." 

"I'll try to work that into my speech," Steve mutters. "Please don't shoot the nice lady wearing the blue suit." 

"How's that speech coming along?" Maria asks. 

"Mostly done," Steve assures her. 

"Memorized or written?" 

He makes a face. 

So much of a successful mission is timing. They find a place to wait, overlooking the main SHIELD office and they listen for the code to indicate that Natasha is in position. 

They get confirmation and they drive down to the big garage. Maria has all the appropriate codes and security passes; Sam and Steve just wait in the back of the van. 

They find an opening and Maria backs the van into a private parking spot. 

They all check their gear and their weapons. Sam takes another look at the map he still needs and then tucks it away. 

Maria disables the video cameras in the parking garage. 

Sam goes first, Maria and Steve follow. There's no way to hide the great honking weapons they're carrying and both Maria and Steve are too well known to attempt any kind of stealth attack. Once they're in, everyone's going to know who is attacking. 

Sam spies two men in a truck just ahead so he signals and they wait. This is the tough part. He could shoot them, but they're innocent men and they're all in agreement that they'd like to keep the bloodshed to a minimum. Or at least wait to start shooting until they're actually in the building. 

He glances back at Steve and Maria and feels a spark of concern. 

They're talking to each other in an intense way, too caught up in what they're saying to pay attention to the mission. Sam flips the switch in his earbud and catches the conversation.... 

\- don't you dare say that, Maria is saying fiercely. 

\- I'm just saying, if I don't ... 

\- you are a good man, she insists, better than him. If it comes down to him and you ... there should be no hesitation 

\- I don't know if I can do that 

\- you have to come back, _for me_ , she says urgently 

Sam touches his comms switch lightly, "guys," he whispers, "this is really not the time or place." 

Steve looks up and nods. He moves to follow Sam, but Maria grabs his face between her hands and pulls him to her for a passionate kiss. A real, knock your socks off, must have tongue involved, passionate kiss. 

Sam looks away. The two guys in the truck are leaving. Now is the time to move and public displays of affection are embarrassing at the best of times, not the least when they affect a bloody mission for crying out loud. 

On the other hand, he can tell Natasha next time he sees her that he's really very sure that there's something going on between Steve and Maria. That kiss is pretty x-rated. 


	3. Chapter 3

Blowing helicarriers out of the sky is dramatic.

The aftermath? Not so much.

After checking in with medical and eating and being briefed and giving his own version of what he saw and did and hearing the news and dodging news reporters who have descended upon the tents sent up on the lawn to treat the wounded, Sam finally finds the time to search out the person he most wants to see.

It is late afternoon, not quite evening. The smell of burning fuel still hangs in the air. Black clouds have dissipated, but still hover.

Panic has been replaced by coordinated action by men and women trained to handle disasters.

Sam finds Maria Hill in the back of a tent currently being used by Fury to take stock of who they’ve lost and who remains.

She is working on a tablet when he approached so he sits on a cheap folding chair and waits.

She looks up, keeps working, and then finally sighs and makes a point of putting it away.

He silently offers her a wrap and a bottle of ice tea.

“Thanks.”

He nods and waits.

“You work for the VA, right?” she says.

“Uh huh.” So she’s looked him up. Or maybe Steve told her.

“So you’re going to tell me about grief or PTSD or about letting my feelings show?”

“Not in a million years.”

She digs into the wrap enthusiastically. She hadn’t realized how hungry she was until she started eating.

“I’m just telling you that I’m here if you want to talk. I mean, you and Steve obviously kept your relationship a secret so maybe some of your colleagues don’t fully appreciate how ...”

“I’d prefer to keep it a secret.”

“No-one will hear about it from me.”

“You think I should be crying, don’t you?” Maria says bitterly. “That I’m living up to - or down to - my reputation as an ice queen.”

He shakes his head. “They haven’t found him yet. One way or another.”

“He fell 50 feet from a burning helicarrier into water that was on fire it was so saturated with jet fuel.”

Sam smiles grimly. “He’s beaten long odds before. Until we find him ...”

Maria looks away.

“I’m wondering what your argument was. I mean just before we stormed into SHIELD,” he says softly. “I keep thinking that it sounded like he didn’t really expect to come back.”

She nods.

“He thought this was a suicide mission?” Sam asks.

“Not exactly,” she answers slowly. “It was more ... that he didn’t mind if he didn’t come back. Felt it was karma or something.”

Sam scowls. “For what?”

“For not ... dying the first time.”

“In the ice?"

Maria nods. “He did it ... flying into the ice that time as a sacrifice. Saw it as a way to save thousands of people. Waking up all those years later felt to him like he’d cheated somehow. He didn’t intend to survive.”

“But his 'death', his sacrifice worked,” Sam points out. “It’s not like anyone he saved that time suddenly wasn’t saved when he was found.”

Maria sighs. “Not sure I can explain it.”

“Catholic guilt?”

For that she smiles. “I’m Catholic too,” she reveals. “But Steve never really accepted being here in this time.”

“He did just fine.” Sam argues.

“No,” she says firmly. “He survived and he adapted and he was smart enough to learn how to live in this time, but he never felt ... he never wanted to be here. He never got over his grief.”

“At surviving?”

“At losing everyone,” she says calmly. “Everyone who knew him, loved him. Everyone he loved.”

“He made new friends.”

“Not the same.”

Sam nods. “That’s why the Winter Soldier is more than just a blast from the past.”

Maria agrees. “He’s part of Steve. Part of what he misses so agonizingly.”

 

It’s almost dusk by the time Fury sends them off to rest. Even he is grey with fatigue, not recovered yet from his brush with death. Not to mention the excitement of the day.

“I’ll need you tomorrow,” he growls. No use if you’re dropping. And there’s nothing more we can do tonight. You’re just reading the same old news reports over and over.”

Sam and Maria hitch a ride back to the bunker together and eat a late dinner. Disaster reigns but even soldiers have to eat. The cafeteria is operating on a 24 hour schedule and even offering breakfast (pancakes) all day.

“Comfort food,” Maria explains wearily to Sam.

Natasha has spent most of the day at the bunker. As soon as she was checked out by medical she did the sensible things and napped. Experienced agents grab shut eye when they can.

It’s dark. They should be in bed by now according to Fury’s edicts but neither can quite drag themselves off.

Their cellphones vibrate at almost the same time.

Sam grabs at his and notices the sound of quick running footsteps in the hall.

Maria is already on her feet, grabbing at her jacket.

“Found him!” Natasha announces as she bursts in.

They scramble to grab a vehicle. Most are assigned to specific tasks, but Maria pulls rank, grabs the keys of a delivery truck and they pile in.

Natasha explains. “They didn’t know who he was. No dog tags, most of his uniform burned off him ...” Maria flinches. “Figured it out when he kept coming out of anesthesia while he was on the operating table.”

Sam shies away from the implications.

“How bad is he?"

“I don’t have details yet.”

 

They dash in and are intercepted by a young doctor wearing scrubs.

"Figure you want to keep this as low key as possible, right," he says. "I mean for security purposes?"

"Damn straight," Maria says. "I want the fewest people possible knowing his identity. Last thing we need is swarms of reporters." She looks at Natasha. "Or worse."

They march quickly down the hall, jog up some stairs and find themselves at the entrance of a private room where a nurse glares at them fiercely.

"Family only," she insists.

"Brother, sister and girlfriend," the doctor answers firmly, pointing at each.

The nurse looks hard at Sam who keeps his expression neutral.

She snorts."Fine. But he's unconscious and will stay that way for a while."


	4. in the hospital

Steve wakes in darkness, woolly-headed, mouth dry. He stirs, moving his head.

“Hey,” someone says in a familiar voice.

Steve frowns, hating the feeling of being constrained, not physically, but drugged. He takes a deep breath, sucking in the familiar scent of hospital, antiseptic and ozone. “Clint?”

Clint is at his side, patting his shoulder. “I think the device feeding you drugs quit,” he says in a worried voice. “I heard a beep. Hold on and I’ll get a nurse.”

“No,” Steve says in a voice raspy and rough. “Just wait. Give me a chance to think."

"It's on your head," Clint shrugs. He pats Steve's hand.

“Where ... where am I?” Steve ask shakily.

“Hospital.”

Steve laughs and then winces. “ _That_ I know. I mean where? What happened?”

“You might have a concussion,” Clint says.

Steve grins. “Not the first time.”

“How’s the pain?”

“Manageable. Let me ... uh ... give me a moment.”

Clint pats his hand, not sure what to do next.

“So ... what happened?” Steve asks. “Did we get it done?”

“Blew three helicarriers out of the sky, rained debris all over the Potomac, destroyed SHIELD ...” Clint grins. “Did you mean to do all that?”

"Kind of. Is everyone OK? Did we lose anyone?

Always the soldier looking after his people.

“No,” Clint answers. “I mean people died. Probably fewer than a hundred, we’re still counting and double checking lists and all. Nat’s fine. So’s Fury much to my surprise. Oh and the new guy.”

“Sam?”

“Yeah. I oughta be offended that you’re replaced me as sidekick so quickly.”

Steve grins, "not replaced," he grunts. "Worthy addition to the team."

"If you say so."

Steve snorts. “Seen his wings?”

"I have cool toys too."

"Uh huh. So one guy has wings, the other has a bow and arrow. Put them together and what have we got?"

"Don't even say it," Clint grumbles.

Steve winces and shifts just a bit. Everything hurts. "So what's the damage?" he says. "To me, I mean. Been a while since I felt this bad."

Clint sighs. "You still have all your bits. I can't read the doctor's notes, but far as I can tell, you broke about a dozen bones, including a really dramatic compound fracture of your femur. That's the big leg bone in case you didn't know. Plus concussion and I don't know what else. Oh and some burns, but they think you'll heal."

"Wow."

"Remember that you fell out of a helicarrier?"

"Pretty sure it was crashing at the time so I was going down one way or another."

Clint grins.

Steve shifts, stifles a groan. "What are you doing here? Thought you were deep under cover?"

"Was. Am. Nat called."

"Ah."  
   
 "You seem to get into a lot of trouble when I'm not around," Clint smiles.

Steve nods and then winces. The pain is returning in waves, increasing steadily.

""Sure you don't want me to call someone?" Clint asks.

"What are you doing here?" Steve asks slowly, hating that his brain feels sluggish. "Are you guarding me?"

"Yeah. Pretty much," Clint admits.

A nurse enters, walking swiftly. "Are his drugs wearing off?" she asks, moving to check the machines that hum and beep by the side of the bed.

"Ah yeah," Clint says uneasily. "Can I see your pass?"

She rolls her eyes, but flashes the pass around her neck in his direction.

"He takes security seriously," Steve mutters.

"Oh, you're awake," she says in surprise.

"Fast metabolism," he explains grimly. "Drugs wear off fast."

"Well, let me check reflexes," she says. "Can you wiggle your fingers?"

He does.

"Toes?"

He does, but gasps in pain.

"No spinal damage then," she nods. 

"You were worried about that?" Clint asks.

"With the extent of his injuries?" she responds. "Yeah. Pretty amazing that he's still here."

She pats Steve's shoulder. "I'm going to turn on your pain machine, OK? I can see you're hurting."

He nods, breathing shallowly, no longer willing to fight it any longer.

 

The next time he wakes, it's dawn. He's not sure if it's the next day or several days later. He feels scratchy and sore, but in less pain than before.

Pepper Potts is sitting in a chair, looking elegant and composed as she reads a magazine.

Steve coughs.

She looks up, smiles in delight and steps up to his side.

"Hey," he says gruffly, his voice raspy.

"Hey, you," she answers, holding his hand. "Nice to see you."

He winces a little at the bright morning sun.

"Water?" Pepper offers.

"Thanks." 

She holds a bottle with a straw for him to suck at.

"It's your shift now?" he asks mildly.

"We wanted to see you," she says gently. "I wish you had called."

He sigh. "You had your own things going on," he explains. "And it all happened so fast."

Pepper nods. "But Tony, well you know Tony ..."

"He's mad?"

"Thinks maybe you didn't trust him."

Steve shakes his head. "It all went down really fast and we needed to keep a low profile. It wasn't personal."

"It's OK," she says with a smile. "You did what you needed to do. In very dramatic fashion if I may so."

He grins.

"How are _you_ by the way?" he asks, remembering.

She blushes. "Pretty much all OK now. Thanks for asking."

"And Tony?"

She looks worried for a moment. "Still ... struggling with a few things, issues. That battle with the Chitauri kind of ... well it brought back memories that weren't great."

"I heard."

"He'll be fine," she rushes to assure Steve. "Just ... well, not at his best just now."

Steve doesn't bother to ask where Tony is at this very moment. He's already heard rumours of Tony being on the verge of a breakdown, drinking too much, taking too many risks ...  
   
"We want to move you out of here," she says. "Soon as you're out if danger. Will you come to Stark tower?"

He thinks of New York, memories of the city in his youth warring with scenes from the alien invasion.

"It's just for a short time," Pepper insists, misunderstanding his hesitation. "Just until you're on your feet. You'll have your own suite."

"That's very generous of you," Steve says carefully.

 

When Natasha arrives later, the doctors have just finished reviewing his condition. They're amazed at his progress, but reluctant to make predictions of when he can leave. Or to let him get up.

Steve has never been a good patient. He's snappish and irritable even to the nurses, and eager to do more than the medical professionals want him to try.

Natasha watches the staff flee his room before she comes in waving a box of chocolates.

"Heard you've graduated to solid food," she greets him cheerily.

"Oh, I'm glad to see you," he says, his eyes lighting up. "Come here."

"What do you want from me?" she asks warily.

"Body to lean on," he answers. "I need to get up."

She approaches his bed cautiously. "What do the doctors say?"

He has already swung his legs off the bed and is sitting, removing the sensors from his chest.

"Old fuddy duddies," he complains. "I need to get up. Go to the bathroom myself. Shave off this bloody beard."

"You look funny with stubble," she smiles.

" _Hate_ it," he complains grimly. "Itches like crazy. Come here."

Obligingly, Natasha slips an arm around his waist and braces herself as he slides off the bed, hissing as his injured leg touches the ground. He pauses a moment, catches his breath and then they hobble across the room to the bathroom.

Progress is slow, but steady.

Natasha is strong, but Steve is surprisingly heavy.

They maneuver into the bathroom and she eases him down to the plastic seat next to the shower.

"What's next?" she asks, huffing a bit.

"Shower," he says firmly. "Then shave."

"How much help are you going to need here?" she grouses, half heartedly. "Should I call a nurse? Maybe a big strong male nurse?"

He huffs a laugh. "Just help me here, with the err ... ties on this, damn hospital gown ..."

"I don't get paid enough for this," she mutters, her fingers nimbly tugging at the knots.

"Really?" he laughs. "I've been told that this would be a perk for some."

"What? Seeing Captain America in the buff?"

"Hmmm." He waggles his eyebrows enticingly.

"Maybe you should have waited for Maria."

"Ah," he sighs, shooting her a sideways look. "Are you mad?"

"Mad? No. Surprised? A bit."

He rolls his shoulders experimentally. He aches, but except for his leg, he's mostly healed. Bruises are fading, stitches mostly dissolving.

"We weren't ready to tell people," he says carefully. "Too new. Not quite sure where it was going to go."

"Uh huh," Natasha nods. "But you're happy? She's good to you? So far?"

"Course," he squints at her. "What do you mean? You think she ... err ... won't be good to me? Somehow?"

Natasha hesitates. "I like Maria," she says firmly. "I know her. I understand her. In many ways, she's like me. But ... she'll use people."

"What do you mean?"

"Her career always comes first," Natasha warns him. "Love is kind of nice, kind of pleasant while it lasts, but she'll throw you under a bus if your relationship looks like it will harm her career. Always looks out for number one."

"I'd hate to hear your opinion if you didn't like someone."

Natasha smiles grimly. "You don't get to where we got in SHIELD being nice," she says.

"In many ways, things haven't changed much for women, have they?" Steve says thoughtfully.

Natasha nods.


	5. a little steamy

Maria arrives at Stark tower expecting it to be bustling with people.

The AI butler Jarvis greets her in the elevator. 

"Where is Tony?" she asks.

"He and Miss Potts have gone to visit an old friend in Vermont," Jarvis answers gravely.

"Oh," she says in surprise. "And Mr. Rogers?"

"The captain is swimming laps in the rooftop pool."

"And is there anyone else here, Jarvis?"

"No ma'am. Not on the top floors. There are maintenance and security staff on the lower levels."

"Thank you. Take me to the rooftop please."

"As you wish."

As everything else in Stark tower, the pool on the rooftop is extravagant. It's not properly on the very top floor, just on the top floor used by the residents. It juts out of the living area, surrounded by patio lounge chairs and umbrellas. There's a canopy that shades the water during the hottest part of the day.

Maria kicks off her shoes and walks barefoot out on the pool deck.

She's pretty sure that Steve knows she's there - Jarvis may well have warned him - but he's swimming laps and doesn't stop when she arrives.

She watches his steady, precise stroke as he propels himself along the length of the pool.

She counts his laps, four, five, six ...

Eventually, he stops and leans on the pool edge close to her.

"Hey," he says softly in greeting.

"Hi," she answers. "How are you doing? Almost back to full health?"

"Pretty much," he smiles. "Still limping a little bit, but not for long."

It is on the tip of her tongue to apologize for not visiting him in the hospital - at least not when he was awake. But she doesn't.

"I brought you some stuff," she explains. "Info on safe houses, details on where to find caches for money and weapons, that sort of thing. Fury wants them checked and moved if necessary while you're in Europe so .. you might as well take advantage.

"Oh great. We're going to need that stuff," he says. He braces his arms on the edge of the pool and pulls himself out.

He rubs his face with a towel and Maria drinks in the view.

His injuries are mostly healed, burns are little more than pale pink skin, scars fading, even the one on his face, the scar on his thigh is still a raised, ugly looking slash, but otherwise, he looks good.

More than just good. He's put on muscle, his abs are hard and ripped. His arms bulge, his legs are long and lean. And he's just standing there, dripping water, wearing nothing but a simple pair of swim trunks.

Maria resists the urge to reach out and touch him, but she's powerfully reminded of the times when he pressed that amazing body to hers.

Suddenly she's feeling hot and bothered.

She focuses on getting herself under control. Steady her breathing. Resist the urge to drool and throw herself at his feet in a puddle.

She holds out a USB key. "Locations, details, codes," she explains.

"Thanks."

She offers him a piece of paper. "Here are the access codes. Store them apart from the USB key. In fact, usually we just tell agents to memorize the relevant codes and not write them down. But in this case ..."

"Let me see," he takes the paper from her.

"It's hundreds of passwords," she explains. "And since we don't know where you're going to be, we don't know which ones you'll need."

He nods, scowling, focusing intensely on the paper.

"You can't ..." she starts to say.

He ignores her comment, just keeps reading.

"Oh right, eidetic memory," she mutters to herself. Idly she wonders if he uses strategies to remember things - mnemonic tricks?

He hands it back. "Test me?"

She sighs and looks at the paper. It's a list of hundreds of cities and countries each paired with a secure password, composed of random letters, symbols and numbers rather than words that can be easily memorized.

"Latvia," she says.

"Def87$ip," he answers promptly.

"Berlin,"

"Kiu%7a," he responds.

She flips the page. "Mali?"

He scowls, "24*SRT+78"

"You're scary," she says ruefully.

He grins, a cheery insolent, boyish expression that takes years off his face.

She notes that his eyelashes are absurdly long and lush and sweep his cheeks.

"Care for a drink?" he offers. "Tony and Pepper are away so I've been left in charge."

"A drink would be nice," she agrees faintly.

She follows him to the bar where he reaches for glasses and a offers her a choice from an array of bottles that would put most restaurants to shame.

"I hope you're not still mad at me," he says.

"Mad at you? For what?"

He shrugs. "That whole situation when I was on the helicarrier. Nat says you're still kind of ... rattled about having to make the call. I mean to blow the helicarriers when I was still on board."

"Natasha should keep her mouth shut," Maria says shortly.

"It's OK though," he points out. "I'm here. It all worked out."

"Doesn't help with the ethical dilemma though, does it?" she snaps. "I'm dealing with it, I get pissed when you say that I'm mad, just .... just makes me sound petulant, like it's silly that I worry about such things."

"I didn't mean to sound like that."

"I know," she waves off his comment irritably. "But it's not the first time, it's not even the worst situation. And if I stay in this line of work, I'll have to face such situations again."

"Uh huh."

"I once had a civilian come to me with red hot info on a group we were monitoring," Maria recalls. "I sent her back in to spy, but I wasn't able to offer her training or even better tools and I knew it was a deadly situation. That was tough."

"Did she make it?"

"Not actually the point," she responds.

"How can it not be?" he argues. "If she made it, then it was the right call."

"Not necessarily," Maria argues. "Doesn't help to figure out if I should do the same thing in the future."

Steve opens his mouth to argue, but she forestalls him.

"Imagine you were in the situation," she suggests. "I'm in a building, grappling with bad guys and I say, blow it up!"

"No way," he says promptly.

"But it's worth it, right? What's one agent versus a building full of bad guys?"

"Still no way. Your team has to know that you'll never do such a thing."

"What if it's an agent you don't know well? Or even someone you don't like much?"

"Even more important to resist."

"What if there was a chance the agent might survive? Fifty percent chance? More likely than not?"

He hesitates.

"What did you ask me to do?"

"Sorry," he says softly.

She smiles. "I guess I shouldn't be talking so much about what bothers me these days. I keep going on and on."

"No," he tells her seriously. "I want to know what's bothering you. Are you talking to anyone else? Seeing a therapist?"

"No, tough to find therapists who have security clearance and yet can grapple with these issues. I've been talking to Sam. He's easy to talk to."

"Uh huh."

He doesn't want to seem jealous but it strikes him that a) that's how they started and b) Sam's never said anything to him.

She watches him carefully.

"How long can you stay tonight?" he asks. "I could rustle up some dinner."

She hesitates.

He misunderstands her reluctance. "They're not coming back tonight. It would be just us."

"Uh huh."

"How are you getting along with Stark? He's OK to work for?"

"I don't see much of Tony," she says absently. "I take orders from Pepper who is lovely. And I have access to just about the best network on the planet which is cool. Call me while you're on your quest. I'm sure I'll be able to help provide some support."

You're not going to give me a lecture about it being a wild goose chase?"

"No, I get why you're doing it."

He gives her a sideways look. "Thanks. That means a lot."

She smiles faintly. "I share the same concerns that your friends are worried about."

"Which is?

"That you'll pull your punches and he won't."

Steve shakes his head firmly. "I understand that he's formidable. I'm not taking him lightly, but the only way this has a happy ending is if we both survive and I bring him into safety." 

"I'm going to miss you," Maria says softly.

"And I you," he answers.

He's feeling very exposed just now. Standing in the main living area wearing nothing but a bathing suit. Maria seems cool and composed, but she's not giving him any clues as to what she's thinking.

On a whim, he reaches out and touches a lock of hair that has fallen out of her tightly braided bun.

She looks at him in amusement and he suddenly wants her very, very much.

He leans in to kiss her and she responds hungrily, pressing up against him, running hot fingers up his chest, along his arms.

He pulls away. "Hold on."

She looks surprised.

He looks up to the ceiling. Not necessary, but it's a habit. "Jarvis?"

"Yes sir," comes the voice without a body.

"I'd like to invoke Pepper's privacy protocol. Can you delete the last five minutes please?"

"Yes sir."

Maria looks annoyed. "Of course," she says. "I'd forgotten."

He winks at her. "Maria, you know that book you asked me about? I think it's in my suite. Want to walk down and get it?"

"That sounds like a good idea," she says coolly, no sign of any particular interest. They walk to the elevator.

"Natasha warned me," Steve comments casually, "living here can sometimes feel like living in a Focaultian nightmare."

"I read Foucault," Maria admits. "In university. But I hardly remember what he was talking about. Did he design prisons with non stop surveillance or did he say that living under surveillance all the time was like being in prison?"

"Something like that,"Steve agrees. "But Natasha told me to talk to Pepper about how to 'manage' the system."

They arrive at his suite and he opens a control panel in the wall and flips a switch. "Jarvis?" he calls.

No answer.

He grins. "System is off. At least here in my suite."

Maria smiles. "So where were we?"

He reaches for her.

They kiss, slowly.

He nips at her lip.

She closes her eyes and lets herself fall into him.

They end up in the bedroom, a sumptuous boudoir like room dominated by an enormous bed. Maria thinks that Tony is making some kind of point with his decorating, but she's not about to complain.

They strip off. Well, Steve strips off his bathing suit and then they take their time divesting Maria of her clothing.

At this stage in their relationship, they're comfortable with each other.

It's not like the first time when they're frantic with lust, tearing off their clothes and rushing into bed.

It's not like when they were in the bunker, stealing moments with each other, making love on a squeaky, single bed, hoping that no one would hear them, or that no-one was trying to get hold of them at that very moment, or that anyone would coming barging into their secret room.

Now they have a comfortable bed. And privacy. And time.

They take their time, kissing each other languidly. They kiss each other _everywhere_ , lips and tongues tasting, teeth nibbling.

Their fingers explore, stroking, pressing.

They're comfortable with each other, but still new enough that there's plenty to learn.

They whisper to each other.

\- do you like this?

\- yes please, more over here

\- here?

\- please a little harder

\- oh nice. Don't stop

\- mmm

Steve makes Maria laugh - she never seems to laugh.

They bring each other to the edge only to pull back from the brink.

Steve finds himself almost begging her. He tugs on her hair, now loose and flowing.

"You have a thing for my hair, don't you?" she murmurs.

"Yeah," he gasps. "It's gorgeous. You're gorgeous."

"You'd like me to wear my hair down all the time?"

"No," he says, "leave it pinned up for everyone else. I like it down just for me."

She's on top of him, one knee pulled up to his hip, rocking in a rhythm so slow that it's driving him crazy. He wants her to speed up, wants the friction and pressure. But she's teasing him.

"Come on sweetheart," he murmurs into her ear. "I can't hold on much longer."

"Me neither," she sighs.

He taps a tattoo down her spine, finding a pressure point down low, near the base of her spine.

"Oh, oh!" she gasps as the waves take her.

Her contractions push him over the edge and he pulls her close, burying his nose in her neck.

They collapse next to each other, limbs tangled, slick with sweat, but sticky and spent as well.

" _Hot damn_ ," he drawls, letting his Brooklyn accent slide. "You are amazing."

"Think Tony will mind if I go skinny dipping in his pool?" Maria asks idly.

"Get Jarvis to turn off the video feed," Steve answers. "Drive Tony _nuts_."

She feels her collarbone experimentally. "I think you bit me."

"Sorry," he says, sounding not the slightest bit apologetic.

"Jesus, Steve, what are we teenagers?" Maria grouses, "Now I've got to go work with a great honking hickey on my neck."

"Got carried away," he says, grinning.

"Just like a man," she complains, but gently without heat. "Gotta mark your territory."

He smiles, his teeth gleaming white in the dimness. He rolls over to his side and gently palms one of her breasts with his hand.

"Maybe it's not my place to ask since I'm the one who's leaving, but are you going to be here for me when I get back?"

"What do you mean?"

He hesitates, not quite sure how to say what he wants to say. "I know it's different now," he says. "I see Clint with a girl in every city and he's not at all bothered who they're with between his visits. I just couldn't ... I know jealousy isn't nice, but I'd like to know if you'll ..."

"We _are_ in high school," she teases, trying to lighten the mood. "Are you asking me to go steady?"

He makes a face.

"I scare most men off," she points out. "They're not exactly lining up to ask me out."

"Not all men," he says firmly. "And I'm not worried about men making passes at you. I'm worried, I _wonder_ how, what, whether you'll still be mine, my girl, when I come back."

She pauses, aware that his question is more serious than it would seem at first blush. She thinks of clarifying if he's expecting marriage and children and white picket fences ... eventually. But it's too soon to talk of such things.

"I'll be here," she promises. "I'll wait for you. Just don't take forever."


End file.
